A son apart...

The laughter of the children drifted in from the play ground outside. They were playing cricket. Some of them were running after a pet dog. Others were rattling makeshift swords at each other accompanied by dialogues from the movie that currently inspired them. My son stood at the sidelines with a smile on his face and watched it all for a few minutes. Then he went back to examining a leafy twig and holding it up to imagine yet another fascinating object.
I watched him living in his own world while the world of his peers passed by. He was unaware of the complicated conversations an eight year old was capable of having. He was unaware of the joys in simple friendship or in having children come to the door and ask for him to join in their games. He seemed to be unaffected by the apathy displayed towards him or the ridicule which is sometimes better than the condescension. I, however, was not. I keenly felt the knife-edge of ostracism that is the fate of a child who is different.
I took to heart every barb, every comment that smacked of pity and every mean act that had been committed against him. I had forgotten how to laugh and have harsh lines today where there were none a scarce four years ago. I woke up at nights sweating and choking on a nameless dread that my child would forever be dependent on the care of others once I pass away. The nights were the worst when every fear came alive and twined in my consciousness so savagely that I preferred not to close my eyes at all. I would mumble every prayer I had been taught and try to breathe deeply and enter a calm place but fail miserably. Worse was the fact that I could hear my husband snoring softly by my side, completely unaware of my near hysteria. It was then that loneliness overwhelmed me. I felt lost and forsaken even by my God.
There were days when I rallied myself with positive thoughts and worked a little harder. I tried to pay more attention to my little daughter and allowed her chatter and bright words to pull me out of my sadness. I put on the children’s favourite songs and danced around the room with them till we all dissolved in a bubble of laughter. But still I would come back to reality and the nagging heartbreak of my lost little boy.
The one day I woke up and let it go. I let the pain go. I let every feeling of frustration go. I let the anxiety and worry drain away because I could handle it no longer. I let myself see my son’s progress instead of the miles he had left to go. I let myself see how very little it took to keep my son smiling. I let myself see the bond between brother and sister that helped them face the world together despite all odds. I let myself feel peaceful. In all my sorrow, I had failed to see the most important thing – my son’s contentment. He had always been happy with himself. It was only my sadness that choked me and kept me from living life to the fullest. I chose to let the world tell me how I should feel instead of following my son’s lead and being perfectly content with the little joys that were afforded me. He teaches me more than I could ever teach him of life. His birth is a gift to open my eyes to the wonders that have always been but can only be relived through the unbiased eyes of a ‘different’ child.